Sorry it took so long. I promised myself I'd get this chapter done before I go on spring break, since I won't have the computer with this stuff on it.

Second half of this chapter dedicated to Robika. I have fulfilled your request at long last!

Disclaimer: Dear reader, vis-a-vis my writing, I do not own a bit of this...This is Gaston Leroux's; ALW's! On that note, please do not inform them, it would bore them if they knew that it exists! Erm...let's just pretend that all rhymed properly.

A note about Christine's age: Before I get annoyed reviews saying "Christine is sixteen! Didn't you check the tombstone in the movie?", I would like to say, in my defense, that twenty is my estimate for Christine's age. It is hard to have a mature enough voice by sixteen to star in an opera (although I did, but that's because I hit female-vocal-puberty in fifth grade); plus, if you read the book, Meg is fifteen, yet she's a young ballet rat, whereas Christine is grown up. And they're not friends. I don't remember if it ever stated her age or not, but twenty is my estimate. That is all.

Letters and vox pops, whatever the hell those are

Dear Andre and Firmin,

I feel I really must write and protest about your overworking my girlfriend, who didn't come home with me last night, so she must be with you. Christine, in common with a lot of people her age, is twenty. For how long are we to put up with these things?

Yours sincerely,

R. d. Chagny

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Dear Andre and Firmin,

As a prolific note-writer, I feel I must protest the previous note. I am about fifty and am quite mad, but I do enjoy watching Christine work hard. On that note, Carlotta sucks, and she should play the pageboy and let Christine play the Countess. In fact, I feel so strongly about this that I am quite inclined to make a disaster beyond your imagination occur if you don't listen to me. Oh, and the dancing was awful--Mme Giry is awesome and all, but she needs to keep those girls on their toes. No pun intended.

And by the way, Christine is my girlfriend, not that stupid fop's.

Yours,

O.G.

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Dear Andre and Firmin,

I would like to be paid five francs to say something stupid about the Phantom.

Yours sincerely,

M. Joseph Buquet

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Dear Old Codgers, (I swear that was in the actual episode! It worked so well!)

I am prima donna of the Opera Populaire.

Yours truly,

C. Giudicelli.

"Phew!" Andre whistled upon reading this letter. "Bet that's a job and a half, ma'am." He set to writing a note of his own.

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Dear All Y'all,

STOP SENDING US THESE STUPID NOTES! Christine's the pageboy, Carlotta's the Countess, there is no Opera Ghost, we're not giving a single franc to the stupid non-existent Phantom, end of story.

--Andre and Firmin

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Several people were surveyed about their views on the opera house. First up, Meg Giry. "Well, I think they should attack things like that--with satire." She reconsidered. "I mean, with Carlotta's voice. Fair's fair. I think people should be able to make up their own minds for me."

"Well I think they should attack the fuddy-duddy attitudes of the lower middle classes which permit the establishment to survive and keep the mores of the whole country back where they were in the nineteenth century and the ghastly days of the pre-sexual revolution." Mme Giry would most likely have continued, except that a boxer came up to her and punched her, rendering her unconscious.

Next: Piangi. "Well that's, er, very interesting, because, er, I am, in fact, made entirely of wood." Nothing of interest there, and nothing we didn't already know.

Carlotta, of course, would have thrown a fit if her opinion wasn't heard. "Well, I think-a they should attack Chrrreestine, er, first-a with bombs, and rockets destroying her home, and then when she rrruns helpless eento the streets, er, mowing her down with-a machine guns. Er, and then of course rrreleasing the vultures." She paused to flip her hair over her shoulder. "I know these views aren't popular, but I am! So everyone-a will want to change-a their views to match mine-a."

When Raoul was asked about his views, other than what he'd already expressed, he answered vacuously, "I think there should be more Punjabbing." Meg nudged him, whispering, "LESS!"

"Less Punjabbing," Raoul amended.

Back to the lecture hall...

Karina raised her hand. "Er...Professor...Gambolputty?" she addressed Erik, having obvious difficulty trying to figure out what to call him.

"Oui, mademoiselle?"

"May I just sidetrack for one moment. This...shall I call it nickname?...of yours...O.G. How did you come by it?"

Erik nodded to the question. "Well, it's short for Opera Ghost. I didn't use that nickname myself, but a lot of people, particularly the ballerinas, called me 'Opera Ghost'."

"I see." Karina digested this information. "And are you in fact a ghost?"

"No. I'm perfectly live--I just fell through a wormhole. I was live the whole time, but one year, I said to Mme Giry that I was thinking of impersonating a ghost, and since then some people have called me 'Opera Ghost'."

"In spite of the fact that you're still alive."

Erik shifted uncomfortably. "Yes."

"And are you still intending to become a ghost? To bring you in line with your epithet?"

Erik looked completely aghast at this--was she contemplating his death or something? "No!" he positively shouted.

Karina finally seemed to realize that this was a touchy subject. "I see. Well, to return to your life story..."

"Ah, yes." Erik smiled, looking relieved at the change of topic.

"Have you spent any of your life as a ghost?"

"No!" Erik exclaimed, even more shocked at the annoyance. "Look, this ghost business--it really doesn't matter. A few ballet rats call me Opera Ghost, and that's all there is to it. I wish you'd ask me about my life. Everyone talks about how I'm a 'ghost'. They've got it out of proportion--I'm a composer. Er, and an architect, magician, inventor, ventriloquist..."

Karina gave him a stern look. "Professor Gambolputty, I think, with respect, we ought to return to the subject of your life. How am I supposed to pass my final if you don't teach us?"

Erik, completely flummoxed by this point, took her up on that. "Very well, then. Well, they put on Il Muto, but without my specific casting instructions..."